by Julian Gloag
“You mean we can go now?”
“As soon as you get your ’ats and coats on, we can.”
With one accord, they dashed for the house, jostling and slipping on the snowy path, and stampeding into the hail. Hubert was last and he turned to glance at Charlie ’ook standing by the car. Within himself there was a gentle quietude that was not the same as the joy of the others. He loved Charlie ’ook.
As he watched, the man raised his hand to his forehead and for a moment massaged slowly with his fingertips. His hand dropped and he stared down the road to the spot where on more clement days the prostitutes would wander. When he turned his head and saw Hubert watching him, he smiled, but it was a smile of effort.
Soberly Hubert fetched his coat. Suddenly he grasped what the others were talking about. “What?” he said in amazement.
“We thought it would b-be n-n-nice to have Louis with us,” said Jiminee.
“Louis?” repeated Hubert.
“Why not?” said Elsa. “Why shouldn’t Louis have a treat too?”
“Well,” said Hubert, “his mother would never—”
“Why not?” said Charlie ’ook from the doorway. “We can but try.”
“But how can we ask him?” Hubert saw ten thousand difficulties.
“The blower, remember?” He smiled at the children’s puzzlement. “The telephone. We’ll ring him up.” He strode into the front room, the children crowding behind him.
“Grossiter,” he flipped rapidly through the pages. “Ah, this’ll be it.” He began to dial.
“Mrs. Grossiter. Ah, well, this is Mr. Hook. Yes, Hook. That’s right. And how are you? In the pink I do sincerely ’ope. Well, Mrs. Grossiter, I really feel I never apologised properly to you for that, er, nasty little business we was involved in. Oh, I agree. Quite. Of course it wouldn’t have happened if I’d been here. Most unfortunate. Nothing like a man about the house, eh? And how’s Mr. Grossiter? Oh, he is? He has? Well, well, well, I wish I could say the same for myself. Yes, still on the road, but we live in hopes. You must be very happy to have him ’ome. Ah, yes, well I was wondering—you see, Mrs. Grossiter, to tell you the truth, I feel I ought to make up for that little trouble—in however small a way. I was wondering if I could, er, take Louis off of your hands for the day. I know how it is on a Saturday—nice to have a bit of peace and quiet about the house, eh?” He winked at the children. “Slip off for a quick one or spend the afternoon at the flicks. Don’t have to worry about the nipper. The park—yes. I got a sledge for the kids. They are—excited, oh, my word yes. Give ’im tea. Bring him back about six, all right? He would? Well, that’s settled then. Oh, don’t you bother about that, Mrs. G., we’ll pop round right away and pick him up. Yes. Yes. And, oh, give my congratulations to Mr. Grossiter. And to you?” Charlie ’ook opened his eyes wide in mock astonishment. “My word—my blooming word. That is good news. Wonderful. New life—nothing like it. You’re a very lucky woman, Mrs. G. Who, me?” He assumed a tone of brave melancholy. “Ah, well, that’s water under the bridge. Never again.” He sighed. “Water under the bridge—she wouldn’t be up to it. No. We’re getting on, see, both getting on. Here, what am I moaning for, eh? I got six, that’s—seven? Ah, yes, seven. You’re right—just shows ’ow you lose count, don’t it?” He laughed genially. “Okey-dokey then, we’ll be round in two ticks.”
Charlie ’ook put down the phone. He stared thoughtfully at the children.
“Is he c-c-coming?” asked Jiminee.
Charlie ’ook turned on his swift grin. “Of course he is.” He stood up, rubbing his hands. “Where’s my coat, eh? Then we’ll be off!”
36
The keeper signalled them to slow down as they entered the park. He came over and Charlie ’ook pushed open the side window.
“Morning, sir,” said the keeper, brushing the peak of his cap. The dog by his side barked abruptly. “Where was you going, sir?”
“We thought we’d go up the Big Hill,” said Charlie ’ook.
“The Big Hill.” The keeper’s ruddy face moved a little closer. “Well, that’s all right, but you want to watch the road, sir, up the hill. Slippery, sir, very slippery.” He paused, visibly wondering whether his admonition was strong enough. “Could ’ave a nasty accident, you wasn’t careful.” The dog started to bark again. “Quiet, Friend,” said the keeper.
“Is that his n-n-name?” said Jiminee from the back seat.
“That’s right, son. Friend—a dog’s a man’s best friend. Get it?” He paused, unsmiling, and then spoke to Charlie ’ook again. “So you’ll be careful, sir, won’t you?”
“Right,” Charlie ’ook nodded, “I’ll drive as careful as an old lady.”
The faintest of disapproving frowns wrinkled the keeper’s forehead. “I wouldn’t worry about old ladies, if I was you, sir. Just keep your eyes on the road and your ’and steady.” He nodded and stood away from the car.
“Silly old dot,” said Charlie ’ook jovially, shutting the window and putting his foot on the accelerator, “he’d be scared to death in a pram.”
The keeper stood in the middle of the road, watching the big Lagonda draw away. “Wants to watch out with all them kids,” he muttered, stooping to pat the head of his black mongrel. “I know that type. Smart aleck—smart aleck, that’s what he is, Friend.”
“Louis,” called Charlie ’ook over his shoulder, “I hear you’re going to have a little brother.”
Wedged between Elsa and Jiminee in the back seat, Louis looked up. “It’s going to be a sister,” he said confidently.
“Your mother going to have a baby?” asked Elsa, her face suddenly alive.
“Yes,” Louis nodded, smiling. “It’s going to be in July.”
“My birthday’s in July,” said Willy proudly. “It’s the best month.” The children laughed.
Louis is different, thought Hubert; he isn’t nearly so shy and he doesn’t mind laughing anymore. It occurred to him suddenly that they didn’t have to be sorry for Louis now.
As they reached Big Hill and jumped down from the high-sided car and dragged the sledge to where the slope really began, Hubert watched the infection of excitement blossoming in Louis.
“Bags I first,” Louis shouted.
“And m-m-me!” added Jiminee.
“All right,” said Charlie ’ook. “You two go first. And Di can go too—can’t have all the men together.”
They climbed on the sledge, Diana in front to steer. “Now hold tight,” said Charlie ’ook. He bent down behind the sledge and gave it a hard shove. It moved reluctantly and at first they thought it would stop, but, as it reached a sudden dip, it gathered momentum.
“There they go!” Willy danced. “Swish!”
The red runners were a continuous streak of scarlet as the sledge sped down the broad bosom of the hill. A fine spray of snow shot up from either side and suddenly the sledge seemed miles away.
“Shall we go an’ help them?” asked Dunstan.
Charlie ’ook shook his head. “No—they’ll bring it back. Your turn next.”
Far below the sledge had stopped and its riders were so small it was hard to tell them apart, except for Diana’s golden hair. To the right of them, on the more accessible side of Big Hill, they saw the figures of other sledders. Their shouts reached the children thinly and faraway.
Charlie ’ook reached in his hip pocket and took out a leather-covered flask. He unscrewed the cap and put the flask to his lips.
“What’s that?” asked Willy.
“I know what it is,” said Dunstan, “it’s what you take to the races, isn’t it?”
“That’s better,” Charlie ’ook murmured, wiping his lips on the back of his hand. “Yes, that’s right, Dun. Saves you having to pop in the bar all the time.”
“Aren’t there any races today?” Hubert asked.
“Nah—cancelled, ’cause of the snow. Can’t ’ave the fillies getting their tootsies wet.” Charlie ’ook chuckled at some private thought. “But it don
’t matter to me,” he said, “I’ve got a bleeding lucky streak going as I’ve never had in me life.” He hesitated a moment and then went on, “Got a hundred nicker on at Cheltenham this afternoon. A sure thing—can’t miss, not with my luck this season.” He considered for a moment. “You know what? I bet I know what done it. It’s you kids—you brought me luck, that’s what you done. Ever since I come home, I haven’t been able to go wrong. Of course, I had a bad moment or two—who doesn’t?—but on the whole, on the whole, I never had it near so good. Not near.” He took another drink. “It’s a miracle.” He seemed to be talking mainly to himself, and as he focussed on the children they had the guilty feeling of eavesdroppers.
Charlie ’ook waved his flask. “So what ho! Not to worry.” He glanced down the hill. “They’re nearly back—who’s next?”
As Hubert climbed onto the sledge and felt Dunstan grip him firmly round the waist, he wondered for an instant whether Charlie ’ook would have brought them if the racing had not been cancelled. But all thoughts were whisked from his mind as the sledge jolted and then began to slide into a great smooth long run and the icy wind flashed in his face.
“Hu, do you think there’s wolves in there?” Willy pointed at the woods that stretched behind them at the top of the hill.
“I don’t think so,” Hubert answered. He was trying to hear what Louis was saying to Jiminee—the two of them stood off a little. “Perhaps at night. But not in daytime.”
“They’d be asleep in daytime?” Willy persisted.
“I expect so.” Hubert made a decision. He let go of Willy’s hand and walked over to where Jiminee and Louis were standing.
“Hello,” he said.
Louis smiled back. “Hello, Hubert—look at my knife.” He extended his hand to show the penknife. “It’s got everything/’ he said, “even a thing to take stones out of horses’ hoofs.”
“May I hold it?”
“Yes.”
Hubert took off his glove and held the penknife in his hand. It was smooth and white and heavy. It had everything.
“His m-mother gave it him,” said Jiminee.
Hubert was surprised. “But I thought your mother didn’t like you having presents.”
Louis nodded. “She didn’t used to. But it’s different now Dad’s back. She gives me presents all the time. I’m going to get a watch next week.”
Hubert handed back the knife. “Have you still got your ammite?”
“Ammonite,” Louis corrected. “Oh, yes, I got it. I got lots of things now. I got a fort.” There was a pause, and Louis blushed, as if aware that he’d been boasting. “Can I take my presents you gave me back with me after tea?” he asked. “I’m sure Mum wouldn’t mind me having them now—they’re much the best presents I ever had.”
“All right,” said Hubert, pleased. “Louis,” he didn’t quite know how to put what was in his mind, “Louis—is your mother pregnant?”
Louis nodded with vigour. “Oh, yes. She’s really big. Much bigger than when she had me—that’s what Dad says.” He waited, sensing that Hubert had more to say.
“Did—did she want to have another baby?”
“Of course,” said Louis, “Mum and Dad wanted to have one before it was too late.”
“Your Dad wants it too?”
“He must do—mustn’t he?”
Hubert was nonplussed. “Why must he want it?” He looked at Jiminee, but Jiminee just smiled encouragingly.
“Well,” said Louis, “she couldn’t have it without him, could she? I mean, that’s why my Dad come back—so’s we could have a baby sister.”
“Why—does he have to be there the whole time?”
“Oh, no—he goes to the office an’ things like that. But he’s got to be there at the beginning, hasn’t he?”
“Of course.” Hubert spoke abruptly. He was irritated with himself for asking so many questions.
Louis hesitated and then said, “Don’t you understand about all that, Hubert?”
“Of course,” he repeated shortly. “Of course I understand. I was just asking, that’s all.”
“What’s the matter, Hu?” asked Jiminee.
“Nothing’s the matter.” He turned away. He was angry, and he didn’t know why. He looked across at Charlie ’ook standing on the very edge of the steep slope. He watched him intensely as the man raised the flask and drank, as he puffed at his cigarette and then let it fall in the snow, as he pushed his hands into the deep pockets of his camel coat and stared down at the shouting children below. Charlie ’ook had always been there really. Always. He’d written to Mother, hadn’t he? That proved it. He’d just gone away now and again, but really he’d always been there.
Hubert looked back at Louis and Jiminee. “I can ask, can’t I?” he said fiercely.
They stared at him in bewilderment, but he didn’t see. He ran to Charlie ’ook, calling his name.
“Hello, what’s up?”
“Can I stand by you and watch, Charlie?”
Charlie ’ook laughed and made a sweeping gesture with his arms. “Take your fill, lad. It’s yours, all yours—as far as the bleeding horizon.”
37
It was hot in the back of the car. But the words of the hymn that Jiminee was singing—about the rock—made him think how cold it was outside, how very cold. Yet when they stepped out of the car into the garden, by the pool, it wasn’t cold at all.
He looked down at his legs and they were brown and he was wearing summer sandals. One by one, he was handing Louis his presents. And there seemed so many of them, watches and penknives and toy soldiers and a huge rabbit and a book and a penny. But, after all, the pomegranate was missing and he was suddenly stabbed with despair. And then he glanced up, and there on the tree were the rich golden pomegranates, just as they’d always been. He reached and gently pulled down the branch and plucked a pomegranate. Its skin was as smooth as wax.
And he handed the last of the presents to Louis, who said simply, “I must go home now.”
Hubert kicked off his sandals and pulled his shirt over his head and undid his belt so that his trousers fell down to his ankles. And he felt the breeze blowing on his body. It was like water, so smooth and milky warm. He swam a few strokes in the pool and watched the great green lilies. He was happy because he remembered it all, exactly as it was. He could close his eyes and remember every detail, and when he looked again, he was right. It was just so.
He swam to the edge of the pool. He smiled, for there was the black dog with curling hair on his neck. He wasn’t barking now.
“Hello, Blackie,” said Hubert. And then he frowned. This wasn’t Blackie—Blackie had moved away ages ago. This was—he tried to remember. “Friend! I mean Friend.” He smiled up at the dog. He put his hands on the side of the bank and pulled his shoulders out of the water. Soon it would be teatime.
But the dog gently put its paw on his head and, with the faintest of growls, pushed him back into the pool. Hubert went in over his head and, when he came up again for a little while he couldn’t see for the water in his eyes.
He grinned to himself and swam to the other bank and started to get out. But Friend had followed him and pushed him back once again, this time more roughly.
“Good old Friend, good dog,” coaxed Hubert, as he gripped tight at the bank. This time Friend put both his paws on Hubert’s shoulders and forced him down. He uttered a single bark.
“Don’t bark, please,” said Hubert, spitting the water from his mouth, “you’ll wake the others.” He swam cautiously away and then darted back and heaved quickly.
He was almost out, and would have been if his foot had not slipped as Friend charged him with loud barks.
“Hush,” said Hubert anxiously. His arms were weak and he could only just keep his head above the water. It was growing cold too.
“Please let me out, Friend,” he said, but he knew that the dog could not be won by persuasion.
Again and again he tried, each time more feeble. And now Frien
d had set up a continual howl and was prancing wildly on the bank.
“Please, please,” cried Hubert, trying desperately not to weep—for his tears would only make more water for him to drown in.
He could try no more. It was too late. He felt the water on his face and in his nostrils and his eyes. Only his ears were clear and in them was the wicked triumphal bark of Friend, louder and louder and filled with ever more frantic rage.
He sat up, his eyes staring in the darkness, noting the familiar chink of lighter night outside the curtains, but he heard it still—the barking, barking. Or was it laughter? And now it seemed to rise and scream.
Then it stopped. There was suddenly such silence that he could hear Dunstan breathing in the bed against the wall.
He lay down at last. There was no more noise. But it was a long time before he shut his eyes.
SPRING
38
Hubert stood at the door and sniffed at the ebb-tide smell of beer and dead cigarette stubs. The front room was dark, lit only by the strips of daylight round the closed curtains.
He moved into the room and sniffed again. There was another smell, a sweet cheap perfume that could come from scented tobacco or … Hubert frowned. He walked slowly over to the windows and pulled back the curtains. He unlatched the window and heaved it open as wide as it would go. He bent down and looked out.
The streets were quiet. A grey spring rain was falling gently. Hubert stared over the hedge at the spot where the Lagonda should have been. It hadn’t been there for weeks. Perhaps at the back of his mind he had hoped it would miraculously appear this morning—ready and waiting only a word from Him to carry them off to a day in the park, or the country, or down to the sea. But it wasn’t there.
He looked in front of the Halberts’. The road was empty there too. Mr. Halbert wouldn’t keep his Daimler out in the rain.
He thrust out his arm and felt the rain on the back of his hand. It was cool, and the street was so silent, you could hear the drops on the leaves. It was too early for the postman, or even for the milkman. Somewhere a policeman would be sheltering in a doorway—but all the rest of them were asleep.